Author's note: Might seem
confusing. The capitalisation of the 'He' was only meant to distinguish the
character from the other male characters -at one point it got really
confusing-; and not at all as an offence to God or Christian persons. (One
never knows.)

There was Night

By Le Chat Noir

Once there was the Night. Not real darkness, but Night. He
remembered the Light, dim and pale, young yet old as the Eä itself. Once. There
had been. Nothing like the light given to them by the Valar. The light of Valinor
was strong and rich, and handsomely bright. The other Light was fragile as
glass; it had the ethereal feel giving the illusion that it would break any
minute, and ripple down in soft showers of radiance.

The Elves were content. The Valar had offered them the
light of the Trees, in all its perfection and eternity; in exchange of their
leaving the Forest and the Lake. They had been glad, eager for the Great
Journey that awaited, looking West already to catch a beam of the promised
land. There were forests in Valinor, and lakes, and much more; however it could
not be the same. They were content. They had light, and peace, they lived under
the tutelage of the gods and felt the soil of the Blessed Realm under their
fleeting feet.

They rose from the grass, Awakened, Unbegotten, the turf
fresh and humid to the touch of their skin; and looked around themselves in
wonder. Yet unstained, yet youthful, their innocent hearts opened to the
kindled dots of the Light, delighting in some old memories of forlorn dreams.

He sat on the silver throne, finely carved and shaped out
of the most expert hands; sometimes the thin wreath of gold on His brow weighed
thousand tons for His head and there were bonds of invisible ropes sprouting
from the armrests, tying Him firmly onto the kingly seat.

The first one to open his eyes and the first one to stand
under the sky, the blonde elf pointed a finger into the obscurity, pointed to
the Light, and after some time their lips curved into fair smiles, shy and
hesitant. Blue, grey, dark eyes were kindled with the glow of new stars.

Êl!

In Valinor the Elves built high towers and white cities of
pure alabaster, reaching always higher towards the clouds in an ancient
instinct born of forgotten hopes and fear. From the light they lived and on the
light they fed, the light they drank in as the sweetest miruvor; in the cities
they walked proud and content of the new existence they were given.

They felt the need to ride away from the cities and in the
darkened forests walked as ghosts.

Often the elves reached out with their hands, and grasped
at the Light, and then looked around themselves in shame to make sure no one
had seen them.

He sat and she sat at his side, the queen with golden hair
and opal blue eyes, both they sat everyday in the great white hall of the
tower. He sat and smiled, and watched the happiness of His people under a rule
that was not His.

There was the Darkness, too, lurking in the Night, and
where the Darkness went the Light was dead. It had been feared, and when the
Elves met It then few ever came back to tell the tale. The Darkness was dread,
and terror; the first of fright the Elves had known. And from fear hope was
born.

Once the Light had fallen,
shattered, and softly the slivers of crystals descended upon the Lake. With it
came cold. The water's song was mute, and, tentatively, the Elves had reached
out cautious limbs to step on the still surface. He had been the first one to
stand on it, and cried in surprise when the water didn't give way and engulf
His weight. He had turned around to invite the others to do as Him, but then He
slipped, and raw pain shot through His body as the back of His head came in
hard contact with the solid water.

In Valinor the Elves feared naught, they walked in peace
and light and quiet; days after days kind oblivion overtook the obsolete
visions of dread. With a smile on their face they rode through the paved
streets, or raced each other down the riverbanks.

One of the young children stuck
out her tongue, squinting, and caught a small drop of Light in her mouth. It
melted, and she burst into gleeful laughter. Soon, all the Elves were running
on the water, gliding as phantoms and falling with delighted cries and songs,
sliding with their mouths open towards the sky. Ingwë offered a hand to help
Him up, but He refused it with feigned scorn.

There was no such cold in Valinor
either.

There had been a shadow among the forests of Night; it had
not been a shadow of the Darkness. He remembered the lively dance of the
spectre or the maiden, ephemeral shade of silver and white stepping through the
trees so lightly it seemed to fly. The same shadow had walked, behind His host
at first, then He had walked at her side; always her hands were at work and
from her skilled fingers sprang fabrics of the finest silk embroidered with
songs and magic.

In the everlasting day there was nothing to desire, for
the Elves had all; the old yearning and faint Light sparkling in their eyes had
yielded to a mightier force and strength, giving place to bliss and glee. The
serenity of millenias had passed over the first fire placed in their young
hearts, soothing their flame.

Silver hair had been hers, and deftness beyond words.

There was the Night, and in the Night the Light and the
Darkness fought; there had been beasts and other shadows prowling in the land.
The Elves had feared, but as long as the stars did shine there always was one
to take up a fallen branch and brandish it in defiance of the Dark.

The Rider had come, and He had stepped forth; for the
newcomer shone as a being of light, yet it was not the Light. At His side were
Ingwë and Elwë, friends, and they found they could not understand the speech of
the tall Rider.

The Fire knelt in front of Him, burning with a darkness
that was not the Darkness. He saw the pyre in his eyes, igniting with a gaze
the grey ashes of dreams. Her son. Tighter and tighter the straps of steel
bound Him to His seat. He smiled, for him, for her, and with all His will He
fought against the gently shackling chains.

They were married under the Law, strictly according to the
rules of the Valar. Under the mingling light of the Trees they had joined hands
and exchanged two rings of silver for gold.

He was before Him, one knee bent to the ground, but his
face unlowered. A circlet of silver crowned his head; sometimes He wondered
whether it was as heavy for him, too. But he burnt, and He saw him burning, the
fire glowing from inside as if the slender Elf-body was not enough to contain
it. The Fire could burn the bonds away, turning them to molten heaps of iron
and gold; His skin would then be scorched and singed, but He would be free.

At the very first He had seen Ingwë's love for the other
light; in Valinor the High King had moved with his people to live at the foot
of Taniquetil, closer to the light. Elwë was lost. The white-haired elf had
chosen to remain with the Night, and dwelt under the gleam of stars. No news
came; and each passing season brought them a new tide of joy that made
forgetting all the more easy. Sometimes He thought about his old friend, and
the Darkness that still loomed, but soon oblivion swept pass.

In Valinor there was no night, and torn to shreds He chose
to remain upon the lonely hill, halfway between the light and Outer Lands. At
times they would catch glimpses of stars, and the Light; then blurred memories
would rise out of the depths of their minds, kindling again the dull hopes that
had once throbbed wild.

He could not see; they had also arranged the white
blindfold over His eyes. Through the thick silky cloth He saw only the Fire,
the fey spirit burning its way through the fabric, showing Him the world
through the dark fiery eyes.

The Elves were content with existing. In Valinor there was
no night; and no Light. In Valinor there were quiet and peace, there were bliss
and joy and perfection; in Valinor there was neither fear nor dread. In the
Blessed Realm there was eternity frozen, in a great forever that was unfolded
thoroughly under their eyes, tracing them a path smooth and flat, an avenue of
fine sand.

There the Night did not dare
venture, only brushing past the outskirts of the land. The Fire sought the
Night, and fought the Darkness, and back from his journeys far from where the
Tree's rays reached he unwound for Him the forgotten rapture of the First
Light. In those visions He drowned, and when the Fire was there also was there
the fear, and with it hope.

The Trees of Valinor were
everything, and everywhere. But the bonds were too strong; and by himself alone
He could not burst them. One last time before the end He would have liked to
see the Night again, and smile to a radiance other than that of perfect joy.

Silently, the light of Laurelin
waning sprawled golden on the marble floor.

~

Author's note: Do not ask what
possessed me to write a Finwë fic. The new Muse, probably.

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.